


The Fault of Tuesday's Tulips

by Byacolate



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Language of Flowers, M/M, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's always had hay fever, but the crush on the florist is new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fault of Tuesday's Tulips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snakepapa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakepapa/gifts).



> Wonderful Kaiti prompted me: "Felix has hay fever but he stops by the hawke family florist every week to buy flowers from the younger son bc he's huge and beefy and he seems grumpy but he blushes and its so cute and hey so tell me about the language of flowers." I can finally put my years of flower arranging courses to practical use.

Dorian glances up at the soft _thwap_ on his desk.

 

“My,” he says, one corner of his mouth quirked upward as he reaches for the bouquet. “Again? You spoil me.”

 

When he finds a packet of tissues in his desk, Felix takes them without hesitation. He offers his gratitude while hastily pulling the packet apart. Felix goes through three to five tissues in the time it takes for Dorian to move the bouquet to the backroom. “Just in time, too! The one from last week was looking a little weathered,” he calls beyond the door. Felix sniffs and dabs at his nose with another tissue. Dorian pops back into the main shop, tutting all the while. “It’s taken you this long to recover from the last time, hasn’t it?”

 

“No,” says Felix, only a little petulantly. He sniffs again. “It was only a few days. I think I’m getting better at this. Perhaps my body’s finally starting to acclimatize.”

 

“Starting to accept its fate and take itself down from the inside, more like.”

 

Felix coughs delicately into the last clean tissue before he excuses himself to the washroom.

 

“All this for a pair of pretty eyes and thick arms,” Dorian tsks after him, his tone pleased. “Don’t get me wrong - I approve! And I do benefit from all your suffering. All these flowers set the gentle homosexual aesthetic I should really settle into, at my age.”

 

“Don’t you have inventory to take,” Felix groans, splashing cold water on his face.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never allow duty to get in the way of our friendship. You know how I love our banter - me always right, and you, suffering.”

 

Felix feels the wave of hay fever exhaustion creep over him that he’d only narrowly escaped for the past hour. His head falls slowly to the sink, blissful porcelain coolness against his forehead.

 

Likely due to his prolonged silence, Dorian comes to check on him. He’s left the door open, and Dorian pats him briskly on the back. “Look at the state of you. There’s only so much pity I can feel when all this agony is self-inflicted, you know.” He pats him again and disappears, only to return a short time later to pry Felix away from the sink and sit him down on the chaise lounge at the back of the bookshop. He puts a glass of water in one of Felix’s hands, and a couple of pills in the other. “I’d like to know why you insist on putting yourself through this every week.”

 

Felix knocks the pills back with a little sip of water and tips his head back to rest against the top of the chaise.

 

“I’ve met him, you know. He cuts a very nice figure, but I can’t imagine that it’s worth the torture.”

 

Then finally Felix grins, his eyes falling shut.

 

“Where’s your sense of romance, Dorian?”

 

Dorian snorts. “Somewhere in that last packet of tissues you sopped your way through, I suspect.”

 

“It’s the sum of the parts, Dorian.”

 

“The sum of the parts seemed perfectly inauspicious to me. And not a little cranky.”

 

Felix laughs to himself and Dorian pats his knee before wandering off to finish marking his inventory. Eyes shut and allergy-fatigued, Felix rests in the back of the quiet little store and lets his mind wander to the floral shop down the street, and the blue-eyed clerk within.

 

* * *

 

He can already feel the telltale tickle in the back of his throat. He‘s primed himself with allergy pills several hours in advance, though, so Felix quietly orders his body not to betray him further as he leans over the counter and, subsequently, a bouquet of white carnations.

 

“D‘you need a card?”

 

A pair of very blue eyes peer up at Felix where Carver of Bethany‘s Arrangements is bent over the counter opposite him. He asks the question every time, and Felix‘s polite answer has devolved over the two months of their acquaintance to, “No; my friend will only tease me for it. They‘re really for his shop, besides.”

 

Carver makes a noise of recognition as he cuts a length of ribbon, and Felix takes the opportunity to discretely press a knuckle to the corner of his watering eyes.

 

He‘s always managed an escape before Carver‘s had to see him in the throes of his allergic reactions. Felix counts his blessings. He maintains a careful distance from the flowers, beautiful as they are, and... as pointless as it may be standing in a flower shop.

 

“Usually people like to smell the flowers.”

 

Carver speaks lightly, and as always, Felix can feel himself perk up when he‘s the one to start a topic of conversation. Those first few visits yielded nothing but stiff politeness from him, retail lines from a no-nonsense face. Over time and countless transactions Felix has worn him down to prompting small talk on his own.

 

“They were your recommendation. I trust you.”

 

Carver gives him a peculiar look. He stares back down at the ribbon he‘s fussing with and continues with a transparent air of casualness, “I don‘t think I‘ve ever seen you smell them.”

 

Felix blinks a few times, willing away the irritation in his eyes he just can’t shake. He‘d rather like to gouge them out. “Oh, well, I don‘t need to. I have a very sensitive nose.” It‘s... not a lie in and of itself.

 

“It doesn‘t bother you, then? All the scents?”

 

It‘s a perfect out for all the times he‘s wandered into shop to chat up the clerk, only to fall over himself to escape after eating away at Carver's valuable time. Felix should take it. “Hardly,” he says, but his voice breaks as a small coughing fit overtakes him. “Sorry,” he manages, turning his head away. “Head cold. You were saying?”

 

“Wasn‘t saying anything,” says Carver. The little quirk of his lips suggests he‘s... amused? It doesn‘t disappear when Felix takes notice - in fact, color blooms in his cheeks, and he doesn‘t even try to mask it with neutrality. His mood today must be stellar. Carver hands the simple bouquet of carnations and bluebells over when Felix slides him a small handful of silver and coppers. When he tips the change into Felix‘s palm, their fingers brush. “There. Thanks for stopping by.”

 

Felix smiles cordially back. “Of course,” he says, playing his role perfectly in their weekly exchange. He pockets the change on his way out the door, far less hasty than all the times before. These new meds may be here to stay he thinks, when Carver deviates from their time-tested script by taking the last word.

 

“See you next week,” he calls. Felix glances over his shoulder to find Carver red in the face. Only barely, he manages not to duck his own head, overcome with sudden fluster.

 

“Next week,” he agrees with a wave.

 

Carver disappears into a back room before the door can even fully swing shut. For something so small, and despite the drip threatening to run from his nose and eyes both, Felix feels himself walking on clouds all the way to Dorian‘s shop.

 

* * *

 

“Heart‘s ease?”

 

“Pansies,” Carver says, fiddling with one of the many miniature bouquets he's arranged. He doesn‘t look Felix in the eye. “They‘ve got a daft name either way.”

 

The stems are small, held together by sturdier leaves and wire. Felix knows the ribbons are just for show, thin and lacy. Carver tucks and folds and ties each one with admirable delicacy for such large hands.

 

“But ‘heart’s ease’? It‘s a lovely name.” His sense of self preservation, an ever-fickle thing, is pushed aside as he thumbs at one delicate purple petal.

 

“Yeah. Maybe.” He adds the little bouquet - no bigger than his palm - to a hole on a water tray with the rest. “They were on sale this weekend for the holiday. You don‘t come in on the weekends though, and I thought you might, uh. Like them.” His mouth twists like he‘s said something he oughtn‘t. “It‘s... not a big thing, though. The owner‘s my sister, and... it‘s silly.”

 

“No,” Felix says quickly, leaning in. “They‘re adorable. I want them all.”

 

Carver‘s face goes an odd color. ”I didn‘t -” he splutters, nearly dropping a new handful of blooms, “I didn‘t mean for you to - to... you don‘t have to do that. I -”

 

“I _want_ to!” Felix insists, something soft and giddy padding the inside of his brain. “I want to,” he repeats, somewhat more composed.

 

Carver rubs at the side of a clean shaven cheek, as though to wipe all the color from it. “You‘re... fine. Alright. They‘re yours.”

 

Felix doesn’t know what he‘s going to to with a crate full of pansies. More to the point, he doesn’t know what _Dorian’s_ going to do with them. But he knows that they’re delicate creations made by Carver‘s own hands, and he knows that Carver thought of him when he made them - enough to ask his sister for more, to make them past their holiday special. He wants them all.

 

“What do they mean?” he asks to distract himself from the tickle in his throat. “In the language of flowers? The heart’s ease - ah. Pansies.”

 

Carver startles a bit, fumbling with a ribbon loop. “Uh. Dunno. ‘s more Bethany‘s thing,” he mumbles. Felix clears his throat to ease the tickle, and awkwardly swallows a cough. He pulls out his phone.

 

“I’ll look it up,” he says. Carver makes a noise, and Felix glances up to see him staring firmly down at the mini bouquet. Felix taps away at his phone and waits for the result. He smiles. “Oh, that’s very romantic - pleasant thoughts. ‘Think of me.’ And look... these violet ones mean ‘you occupy my thoughts.’”

 

“That’s all soppy nonsense,” Carver tells him, red all the way to the nape of his neck.

 

“I think it’s sweet.” Felix tucks his phone away just in time to catch a sneeze in the crook of his arm. Then another, and another. He sniffs miserably, digging through his pocket for a handkerchief.

 

“Alright?” Carver asks, his mysterious consternation traded for concern. All the sneezing’s made Felix‘s eyes water, which is enough to prompt him to rub at them to relieve some of the itch. He remembers only too late that he‘s been fondling the pansies.

 

“Yes,” Felix says, waving him off. “A bit of seasonal allergies.”

 

“In the height of summer?”

 

“I grew up in Tevinter. My body never adjusted to seasons,” he says with a little smile and a dab at his nose. “But I shouldn‘t take any more of your time. I’ll just take all of these,” he taps at the water crate, “and I’ll be out of your hair.”

 

Carver raises a pointed eye to the otherwise empty shop, but doesn‘t comment as he rings Felix up. It comes to far less than Felix expected, but Carver just says, “They’re on sale. You‘re taking them off my hands.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s how a viable business works,” Felix says, but he doesn’t argue further.

 

“Would you like a card? Or fourteen?” Carver asks, almost as an afterthought as he hands Felix his change. Felix laughs until that tickle in his throat turns into a coughing fit.

 

“No,” he coughs, “thank you, Carver.”

 

It‘s a wonder Felix manages not to drop everything at least once with how many full-bodied sneezes shake him on his walk to Dorian‘s.

 

* * *

 

 

“Your friend with the shop...”

 

Felix looks up from the display of potted daphne odora, so fragrant that he can smell them even through his stuffy nose. “The one you give all the flowers to,” Carver goes on, and twirls his fingers up over his top lip. "Is he the book keeper? The one with the mustache?”

 

Felix grins. “That would be Dorian, yes.”

 

“Huh.”

 

There‘s no chance to request elaboration, as a pair of young ladies walk into the shop. Teenagers, connected at the hip, and upon request Carver guides them to the fridge case of corsages. They’re rather sweet, fitting each other with elegant wristlets, likely for a school dance. Felix busies himself with trying to pick something new, torn between waiting for the girls to depart to resume their conversation, or leaving before his niggling symptoms take him down.

 

The shift in Carver‘s tone from familiar conversation to polite, somewhat stiff professionalism in the face of two teenage girls makes Felix smile. They giggle and chatter, and when Felix peeks over, Carver looks like he‘s keeping up just fine. The benefits of having a sister, perhaps. Maybe Carver’s just a good listener. They don‘t seem to need him, though, so Felix lifts a little painted ceramic pot of the little pink daphne odora and stands at the register. He catches Carver‘s eye with a faint smile, and while Carver hastens to excuse himself, Felix pulls out his phone.

 

“'Daphne odora: desire to please',” he reads when Carver ducks behind the counter. “'Sweets to the sweet'.”

 

“Told you that stuff‘s all nonsense,” Carver snorts, ringing him up.

 

“Still, another recommendation of yours that’s turned out to be very sweet in the language of flowers.”

 

Carver grunts noncommittally, and Felix counts his coppers. “So what was it you wanted to say about Dorian? My bookshop friend.”

 

Carver‘s expression goes odd. “Nothing really,” he says, rubbing at the side of his neck. Haltingly, almost against his own will, he goes on. “Only he‘s very... you know.”

 

“Clever? Devious? Well-groomed?”

 

Carver wrinkles his nose. “Fit.”

 

“Oh.” Felix blinks and finds himself somewhat taken aback. “He... I suppose so.”

 

Carver nods, and accepts his perfect change. There‘s nothing for him to hand back - their transaction feels off, however seamless, and Felix just slips his phone back into his pocket and gathers his purchase. He feels like he‘s missed a step on a set of stairs. He starts to turn and stops, holding the flowers to his sternum. “He’s seeing someone at the moment, I’m afraid,” he says. Carver gives him a bewildered look before it smooths.

 

“I wasn’t interested,” he blurts, color blooming in the apples of his cheeks. “I just - I thought maybe you were - that is, you always give him these flowers, and I... I didn’t want you to think I‘d... you don’t need to keep calling him your friend, is all I’m saying. If you’re. Um.”

 

Felix lets out a quick little laugh. “With Dorian? No. He really is just a friend - a  family friend. He helped me move into the city. I suppose this is my way of thanking him.” It‘s true and untrue all at once. Dorian isn‘t the reason he frequents Bethany‘s in particular, or even the reason he first stepped into the flower shop at all.

 

“Oh. Alright.”

 

Felix can feel his face go soft. “But it’s very kind of you to say. Thank you, Carver.”

 

“Don’t be daft,” Carver mutters, pink from his ears to his neck. “We’ve got to stick together, haven’t we.”

 

“I suppose we do,” Felix says, delight a warm thing in his belly.

 

Felix takes the winter daphne home, despite Dorian‘s warnings. He keeps it on his doorstep and replants it again and again as it grows, and grows, and grows.

 

* * *

 

It isn‘t a Tuesday.

 

That‘s the first thought that pops into Felix’s head while he’s shelving books in the back of Dorian‘s shop and hears Carver’s dry tenor. The ridiculousness of the sentiment makes him feel silly - that he could be so surprised that Carver exists in the world beyond the Tuesdays Felix pesters him in his shop.

 

He hastily pushes the last of the books in place before dusting off his hands. It‘s the feminine voice that accompanies Carver‘s from the front sets him off kilter. Nothing he can’t take in stride with a bit of old prep school poise. Felix pokes his head out from behind the shelves.

 

A very pretty woman stands at Carver‘s side. Carver stops cold when he sees Felix, but his companion is all smiles. “Hello,” she says. “Is Dorian away?”

 

“I’m afraid so,” says Felix, taking his station behind the counter. “I can help you with anything you might need. Hello, Carver.”

 

“Felix.” Carver inclines his head with a little smile. In a cutely puzzled sort of way, the woman looks between the both of them. Carver nudges her. “He’s a regular, Beth.”

 

“Oh?” This time, she turns a proprietor‘s smile on him. “I’m sorry we’ve never met! I’m Bethany.”

 

“Bethany of Bethany’s?”

 

She winks. Carver nudges her again, harder. “Stop pestering him. Felix, don’t let her pester you.”

 

“Not like I do every week to you?” Felix asks with a little laugh. Bethany‘s eyes go wide.

 

“Wait... Is this -”

 

“You know where the horticulture section is,” Carver interrupts, giving her a little push toward the back. “Go... _browse.”_

 

“Oh, of course,” she says, with a peculiar sort of smile. She wanders off and Carver shoves his hands in the pockets of his trousers, wandering close to the counter.

 

“I’ve never actually seen you here before. Do you often work here?” He doesn’t even bother pretending to peruse the recommendations on the desk like Felix might have, were their situations reversed. He just looks Felix in the eye, unflinchingly.

 

Felix has never seen him out of his uniform, he realizes - the crisp white shirt, black slacks, and the pastel pink apron. The dark t-shirt he wears clings to his... everywhere. Half hidden by a sleeve, there‘s a tattoo of what looks like a bird of prey - a falcon, maybe, or a hawk - on one truly massive bicep.

 

“Ah.” Felix breaks himself out of his hypnosis. “Ah,” he says again, straightening his spine, “no. I’m a translator. Freelance. I’m just covering for Dorian today while he’s away. Personal day.”

 

“A translator?” Carver folds his arms over his chest and leans a hip against the counter. Felix tries very hard not to get distracted. “That‘s properly fancy.”

 

“Oh, not really. I grew up in Tevinter, and I was educated for many years in Orlais. It‘s easy enough to find clientele with three languages and an internet connection.”

 

“Which part of that was supposed to dissuade me of your fanciness? A childhood in Tevinter? The foreign schooling? Three languages? _’Clientele’?”_ He grins. “The internet connection?”

 

Felix laughs and ducks his head. “I only meant that I happened upon the job. I have no formal training, and my portfolio... I really should stop.”

 

Carver snickers. “Yeah, going on about a portfolio wouldn‘t help your case.”

 

“I get by, at any rate. And I‘ve had enough time to myself today to do a bit of my own work as well as Dorian’s.”

 

“Not busy then?”

 

“On a Thursday afternoon during school season?”

 

Carver holds up his hands. “You don‘t have to tell me. Our _clientele_ base out of wedding season is just this one guy.”

 

This startles a laugh out of Felix. “He must clear you out then,” he says leaning forward onto his elbows.

 

”Maker, no,” Carver scoffs. “He’s a picky bugger. Never knows what he wants, and he‘s always closed to suggestions. Never seems pleased with his purchases - he’s always going and fobbing them off on his friend.”

 

“No!”

 

Carver grins. “It’s true. Don’t know why he keeps coming back week after week.”

 

He’s never seen Carver this playful. It warms Felix from the inside, and he wonders if he’s gone about this all wrong, keeping their interactions within Carver‘s workplace. “I can think of a few reasons.”

 

Carver glances over toward the shelves and then down at the books on the desk. “Speaking of, where is it? The honey flower you bought the other day.”

 

“The melianthus? It‘s in the back room. Dorian keeps it there because - there‘s a big window. Lots of sunlight.” And not at all because he keeps the door shut, and all the pollen gets trapped inside, away from Felix‘s pathetic immune system. “Fitting, he thought.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“We looked up the meaning of the melianthus. Oh, what was it. Something hidden...”

 

“Love sweet and secret,” Bethany‘s disembodied voice rings through the shop. Carver startles.

 

“Yes, that’s it!” Felix snaps his fingers. “Dorian thought it was clever, stowing the plant away.”

 

Bethany returns to the counter not long after with three books in hand: one on pruning, one on the proper care of non-native ferns, and one harlequin romance novel. “This one’s for Carver,” she whispers, and Carver musses her dark hair until she squawks. Felix takes it all with a smile to ring her up.

 

“I’ve read this one before. It‘s better than the first of the series. Dorian knows the author.”

 

Bethany brightens. “Really? So do we! Varric really does get around.”

 

“So you should know it‘s an unspoken rule not to mention his romance serial,” Carver grumbles, snatching up the bag once Felix has tucked away the books and the receipt. Bethany tuts him as Felix hands her her change.

 

“It was very nice to meet you,” she says with an innocent smile. “Carver talks about you -”

 

“Leaving. We’re leaving now,” Carver insists, giving her hair another tussle.

 

“Oh, Carver!” she huffs, combing her fingers through to settle it again before she gives Felix a little wave. “I hope to see you in the shop sometime!”

 

“I’ll be around.” Felix lifts a hand in return. “Thank you for stopping in.”

 

Carver meets his eyes once through the glass door. Felix holds them, and gives another wave. Carver gives a nod back before they disappear down the street.

 

Felix sighs to himself and all but melts against the desk.

 

* * *

 

 

The last place he expects to happen across Carver is the cereal aisle. Granted, he shouldn’t be surprised in the least: it‘s just down the street from Bethany‘s and Dorian’s alike. And he’s already had a staunch reminder in the week past that Carver does, in fact, exist outside of his sister’s shop. Yet here he is, given pause by Carver‘s appearance in the cereal aisle.

 

For his part, Carver looks just as surprised to see Felix there. Felix manages to shake himself first and offers Carver a smile.

 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Carver says, tossing a few boxes of high-fibre fruity cereal into his cart, along with a box of something chocolaty that must be 97% sugar and makes Carver wrinkle his nose in distaste. There’s bacon there, too - an ungodly amount, along with a couple industrial-sized jugs of milk, some bread, eggs, syrup, vodka, a tub of butter bigger than Felix‘s head, and a box of tampons. Felix feels a little... boring with his basket of apples, artichokes, dry pasta, dark roast coffee beans, and honeyed oats.

 

“I suppose we all need to eat, don’t we,” Felix says, quickly reminding himself the impoliteness of peering into someone else’s cart.

 

“Not if you eat like a bird,” says Carver, blatantly eyeing Felix‘s basket.

 

“Shopping for your...?”

 

“Siblings.”

 

Felix brightens. “You have more than one?”

 

“Unfortunately,” says Carver, his mouth twisted into a grimace. “Bethany’s closing up tonight. The other‘s off being a thorn in someone‘s side, probably.”

 

“You’ve never mentioned another sibling before,” Felix says, shuffling from one foot to the other. Carver snorts.

 

“I like to pretend I don't have another. And who’re you shopping for?” He nods toward Felix’s basket. “A mouse?”

 

“I do my own cooking,” Felix explains, readjusting the basket into the crook of his elbow. “I have most of the things I need at home. I just need to stop by the butcher’s on my way home, and I‘ll be set for the week.”

 

“You’re on your way out too?” Carver asks. When Felix nods, he jerks his chin over a shoulder. “I’m running by the nursery for something before I go. I‘ll walk you toward the front?”

 

Felix falls in beside him. He can hardly believe his luck. Still, he manages to keep up his side of the conversation while they stroll along toward the front of the store. “What do you want here that you can’t get at your own shop?” he finds himself asking while Carver peers over the meager selection.

 

“Lilacs,” he mutters, poking around inside. Felix, well aware he took no medication in preparation for this, hangs back a few meager steps from the front-most displays.

 

“Lilacs? Aren‘t they out of season?” he wonders aloud. “Wouldn’t it be easier to ask Bethany for some?”

 

“Only if I wanted them in bulk. Besides, she likes to pry.”

 

Felix doesn’t know what either of those things has to do with Carver’s search for unseasonal flora, but he keeps that to himself.

 

If Carver notices his distance, he says nothing and - to both of their surprise - he manages to find a small collection of lilacs on sale. He picks one after a moment of deep contemplation and situates it with great care in the basket of his cart.

 

Carver waves him down the emptiest till aisle he can find with his superior height, just when Felix thought he couldn’t like him more. Feeling bold, Felix waits once he’s through with his own bags for Carver to come through.

 

“Are you heading back to your shop?” he asks, falling into step beside Carver who has both hands full of several bags apiece looking no worse for the wear.

 

“Yeah, we rent the space above the shop too… you’re going to the butcher, yeah?”

 

“Only briefly.”

 

“Aren’t your hands a bit full?”

 

Felix laughs and nods at Carver’s load. “I think of the two of us, I have the more reasonable burden.”

 

“Right. Okay. Then… before you go…” Carver stops in his tracks to rummage around in his bags, and Felix waits to oblige him. With a little noise of triumph, Carver manages to extricate the cloth bag with the lilac plant. He thrusts the bag out toward Felix. “Here.”

 

For lack of anything more reasonable to do, Felix takes it by the bulk. “Sorry?”

 

“For you,” Carver says intently, cupping Felix’s hands around the pot before he quickly pulls away. “Not for… I mean, I can’t tell you what to do with it, but this is, um. For you. Just you.”

 

“I see,” Felix lies. “I… thank you, Carver.”

 

Carver waves him off, and Felix can see color rise in his cheeks in the light of the setting sun. He looks ready to beat a hasty retreat, stepping backwards before he turns. “Take care of yourself.”

 

“And the same to you,” Felix murmurs, for a moment just watching him escape down the street. He looks down at the bagged plant in his hand. “I suppose you’re coming home with me then,” he says, sniffing a bit. “I hope you enjoy life on the front step.”

 

* * *

 

 

He sends a picture of the lilac and an abridged version of his encounter to Dorian later while he’s waiting for his salted water to boil. Dorian’s response is heralded by a friendly chirp not two minutes later.

 

[Lilac, Purple: First emotions of love.]

 

Felix stares at his phone for the longest moment.

 

“Oh,” says he toward the simmering pot. Felix presses a knuckle to his mouth. _“Oh.”_

 

* * *

 

“Ranunculus,” he says, all but bouncing on the balls of his feet because he’s been waiting all weekend and a day, honestly, and Felix is a patient man, but even he has his limits. Tuesday couldn’t have taken longer to arrive. To his poor fortune, the shop isn’t empty - a man stands browsing the freezer with a small child, and an elderly woman takes her time by the roses. Carver, however, is wholly focused on Felix. “I’d like ranunculus, if you have any.”

 

A furrow deepens Carver’s brow. “Buttercups? Yeah, we’ve got some over here.” Carver glances over at the other customers before he ducks back around the counter. He guides Felix to a display of individual flowers in an array of cheery colors. While Felix takes his time assembling the perfect bouquet, Carver leans against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. “I don’t think you’ve ever come in here knowing what you want.”

 

“That isn’t true at all,” says Felix, examining a champagne pink flower before he adds it to the bunch.

 

Carver snorts. “Is it not?”

 

“I’ve always known exactly what I want. I’ve only approached it poorly.”

 

One pumpkin orange, two white, one so soft a pink it might as well be white.

 

“You look a bit rushed. Is Dorian making demands now?”

 

Three soft yellow, and a bright burst or two of peach.

 

“Not as such, no.”

 

Four red, because they’re lovely, and another two pastel pink. Finally, he turns to Carver. “Alright. I’m -” he turns and plucks another sunny yellow from the display and adds it to his hand, “- I’m finished now.”

 

The grin on Carver’s face could be a laugh if Carver were more comfortable opening up in a full room. “Yeah? You sure?”

 

“Not at all.” Felix glances back toward the display before Carver gently takes the bundle from his hands.

 

“You really don’t need any more. Whoever you’re apologizing to can’t possibly hold anything against you when you hit them with these,” Carver assures him, turning back toward the counter. Felix follows after, hastily dabbing at his nose and rubbing an eye while he has the chance.

 

“I’m not apologizing for anything,” he says, shoving the handkerchief back in his pocket.

 

“Sure,” Carver grins. “You keeping these individual, or is this a bouquet?”

 

“Bouquet,” Felix answers, leaning forward against the counter.

 

“You want anything else with it? Filler? Ferns?”

 

“Oh. No, I believe these will do.”

 

Carver nods. “Yeah, buttercups look alright on their own.” He wraps them securely in wire with a few expert twists of his fingers. “What color ribbon?”

 

“Blue. Light blue.”

 

“For these? Most people like to match a bit. White, or peach.”

 

“I’m quite certain,” Felix insists. Carver nods.

 

“Alright. Light blue.” He ties a dainty, elegant bow to obscure the wire. “There we are. Now -”

 

“I’d like a card, as well,” Felix blurts. Carver blinks.

 

“Really? I - yes, of course. Ah.” The older woman wanders up to the register with a bouquet of yellow roses in the crook of her arm. Carver gestures toward a rack to Felix’s left with a wide variety of cards. “Help yourself. I’ll be back with you in a moment. Good morning, miss…”

 

Felix finds a plain white card of good quality stock, and lifts a nearby pen in thought.

 

Once Carver returns, Felix folds the card and Carver tucks it dutifully within the bouquet. “Will that be all?” he asks, entirely professional.

 

“I hope not,” Felix says, and coughs without delicacy into his handkerchief. “Sorry - yes, that’ll be all, thank you.”

 

Felix feels hot from the back of his neck to the pit of his stomach. His palms are clammy when he hands Carver a few silvers, and it isn’t just the hay fever setting in.

 

“There you are,” Carver says, handing him his change and the bouquet. “Enjoy.”

 

“I - yes.” Felix doesn’t move. Carver’s brow twitches upward and Felix slowly puts the bouquet back on the countertop. Quietly, ever mindful of the other customers, he says, “For you.”

 

He leaves Carver with seventeen buttercups and a shaky smile as he makes a quick escape from Bethany’s Arrangements.

 

* * *

 

There’s a cool wet cloth over his itchy, aching eyes, and a cup of hot tea wafting steam into his face nearby. Dorian fusses around him, reshelving things that don’t need reshelving, dusting perfectly clean surfaces, and reiterating all the nervous thoughts in Felix’s head with a furor of Tevene.

 

“And you’re sure he knows what the ranunculus imply?”

 

Felix sinks further into the chaise. “I think he’s only pretended not to know the language of flowers. He said it was silly, but I think he’s always known.”

 

“Well, if we’re being perfectly honest with one another, at the end of the day you gave him twenty flowers and your number. Even a simpleton would catch on.”

 

“It was only seventeen,” corrects Felix weakly.

 

“I’m practising the exaggerated version of the tale I’ll be telling your children.”

 

Felix can’t even bring himself to laugh. There are moths in his stomach, frantically beating their wings every time he thinks of what he’s just done.

 

“You were forward in every sense of the word,” Dorian is saying, giving Felix a start with a _whump_ to the knee. “I approve.”

 

“What have I done, Dorian?”

 

Dorian sniffs pointedly and gives him another whack. “You gave a bouquet of thirty red roses and your home address to the man you’ve been pursuing for a year.”

 

“None of that is correct,” Felix croaks. “If you’re going to lie to my future children, at least make it believable.”

 

“Don’t be silly. I was only exaggerating to make your actions seem subdued in comparison. Did it work?”

 

“A little.”

 

The bell at the front of the shop chimes and Dorian gives Felix’s shoulder a pat as his footsteps recede to the front. “Good day. How may I help -”

 

It probably wouldn’t do for a customer to come across Felix looking like he’s been attacked. If only the back room wasn’t housing several healthy growing plants, courtesy of Felix himself. He’s gearing himself up to make the short walk home when a pair of footfalls comes near and stops. Felix heaves himself up, peeling the cloth away. “Sorry, I know I’m a sight, I’ll be - oh.”

 

Carver looks down at him, taking Felix in. What he sees stops him in the middle of whatever he’d first opened his mouth to say. “Your eyes,” he says, crouching down until he’s on Felix’s level. His horror turns swiftly to anger. “What happened to your eyes? Who did this?”

 

Felix blinks slowly, the cold cloth going warm in his grip. He laughs a little when it clicks. “It’s not what you think,” he rasps, and clears his throat until his voice comes out stronger. “They’re allergic shiners.”

 

Carver opens and closes his mouth. Then: “... What?”

 

It’s been a long day of truths and it’s only going to get longer. Felix twists the cloth between his hands. “I have hay fever. It’s… pretty bad. I take medication when I need to.”

 

Carver’s squinting at Felix like he’s some sort of puzzle. The moths in Felix stomach are beating a storm against his insides.

 

“You have hay fever,” he says dully.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You have hay fever, and you’ve been visiting a flower shop every week. For months.” Horror snaps across his face. “Does this sort of thing happen every time?”

 

“The symptoms aren’t always the same,” says Felix. Carver’s jaw ticks.

 

“Every week. For _months_.”

 

Felix smiles faintly. Voice soft, he rubs under a sensitive eye. “I suppose I had incentive.”

 

Carver makes an aborted noise of frustration to accompany the color rising in his cheeks. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

“I... I don’t know. That would’ve been rather obvious of me, wouldn’t it?”

 

Another noise. Carver drops his head into a hand. Slowly, Felix leans forward. “Carver?”

 

Blue eyes peer up at him from below Carver’s dark fringe. “You gave me buttercups.”

 

Felix squeezes the cloth. “I did.”

 

“You gave me a _lot_ of buttercups.”

 

Felix ducks his head. “I really meant it.”

 

“Huh.”

 

Carver’s silent for a long moment before he pushes himself up with a grunt.

 

The moths are cannibalizing Felix’s insides. “I’ve been untoward," he murmurs. "I apologize.”

 

Rather heavily, Carver flops down beside him. “You haven’t,” he mutters, before Felix can see Carver rub at his jaw in the periphery. He turns his head to chance a real look at Carver. He‘s gone entirely flustered. More emphatically, Carver insists, “You _haven’t_. Nobody’s ever told me - nobody‘s ever given me buttercups before.”

 

“I don’t see why not,” Felix tells him, and means it sincerely. Carver smiles a little, staring down at Felix’s hands.

 

“You gave me your number.”

 

“I... yes.”

 

Carver nudges a knee against Felix’s. “Then I hope you won’t mind if I use it.”

 

It takes no small amount of confidence, but Felix nudges back. “I‘d be distraught if you didn’t.”

 

* * *

 

 

On a Tuesday evening in the dead of winter, Felix opens the door to find Carver on his front step. Delicate flakes of snow coat his hair and eyelashes, which steals Felix‘s attention until Carver holds out a bright burst of color.

 

Red tulips made of cloth and plastic, arranged neatly with wire and tied with a bow.

 

Felix takes them with care, a warm fluttering in his chest. He’s an old hat at this now; Carver’s long stopped pretending not to be.

 

“For you,” says Carver, and Felix lets himself be crushed against the cold and the damp of Carver’s coat for the simple pleasure of it.

 

“You‘ve gone soft,” he says against the chill of Carver‘s throat.Carver shivers and squeezes him that much tighter.

 

“And whose fault is that?”

 

Felix taps his tulips against the back of Carver’s neck and kisses him where his pulse beats a steady rhythm. “I can only hope it’s mine.“

**Author's Note:**

> Ranunculus: You are radiant, I am dazzled by your charms  
> Tulips, red: Declaration of Love
> 
> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
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